“Hand-Me-Down Female Bun-Maker”

“Hand-Me-Down Female Bun-Maker”

By John Ward

 

prenatal-1It transpires that I have an extraordinary type of memory called “pre-natal cognition.” I am able to remember everything about my birth and before, from the time nature put a brain into my Cranium.

My first memory was seeing my bottom half, which looked like a salamander. For weeks I thought I was the progeny of some exotic tropical reptile and that I would be scurrying around with stunted legs on a rain-forest floor. I remember that this worried me a little at the time, but as the days passed and my lower limbs began to grow, I felt better about my ability to travel when I emerged.

Since I was the last of fourteen children there was ample space in what was, essentially, a “hand-me-down womb.” I really enjoyed the extra space and used it to best advantage. I peed profusely and increased my amniotic fluid, drawing so much fluid from my mother that she felt obliged to quench her thirst in local bars. I remember these visits were noisy but, for some reason, I soon felt much better about myself and didn’t mind the ruckus at all.

My tail, alarmingly, diminished daily. I had great plans for that tail. I was going to use it for grasping, swimming, and defense, but as I watched it grow shorter I had my first feelings of inadequacy. Still, my limbs grew and the tiny bumps on them started to turn into grasping fingers which could be independent or cupped together for swimming purposes. In addition another tail began to emerge, but it was on the wrong side of my body. Fortunately this mitigated my sadness at the loss of my rear tail to some degree.

The days passed with me swimming as hard as I could into the walls of my womb. I would kick off from one side and backstroke to the opposite side. I exercised, because I didn’t want my new limbs to atrophy. My head was enormous and difficult to turn it or lift. I decided that not using it as much would allow it to atrophy and get smaller, so I determined not to use it much during my external life and to join whatever political party would allow me the luxury of little to no mental activity. After all, I thought, “let others do the thinking and run around trying to support their enormous heads!” Laughing about this vision was difficult in fluid, but I managed.

There was one nightmare scenario that came and went on a fairly regular basis. Once I noticed a lot of motion in the walls of my womb, extra oxygen in my blood as well as a strange mixture of hormones. All of a sudden a monster, which I can only describe as a pink, bald-headed Cyclops, would enter at the bottom of my domain and then retreat as rapidly as it had come, like a Moray Eel threatening an intruder. It appeared and disappeared with pneumatic regularity for about two or three minutes and then it would spit on me. This frightened me until I realized it could not see with its one eye. Bald and blind, the monster inspired sympathy rather than fear. I looked on it as a pet after a while and began to enjoy its visits. Unfortunately these became less and less frequent as time went by. It was a good pet except for the fact that it would drool and spit.

On my mother’s birthday, I felt very strange indeed. Something coming through the tube attached to my belly made me want to get “lovey” and “fighty” at the same time. I felt very unstable and had even more trouble holding my head up, but I balled my fists and challenged all comers. Of course there were no “comers,” I was alone in there, but it made me wonder what would have happened if I had been a twin. Also, from that day on I began to refer to my belly tube as my “fun tube.”

As my hearing developed there seemed to be an incessant throbbing nearby and it sounded like I was near some enormous bellows, constantly wheezing air. Before I noticed this noise I could tolerate it quite well, but the minute I noticed it, it became intolerable and I would stick my new fingers into every orifice until I found the right ones to block the sound. The disco throbbing could not be blocked out. It was so deep and pervasive that I felt it in my bones. So I lay there floating in my pee, trying to block out the sound. I have to say I did a lot of sleeping in addition to a lot of leg exercises. There were protuberances in my space that were perfect for punching and kicking and, when awake, I took full advantage of those neat playthings.

One evening my amniotic bath started to drain out through the cave the moray monster used to come and go. When I saw the walls closing in on me I got a sudden attack of claustrophobia! I tried to push a hand into the leak, but it was not big enough. I needed something much bigger, something smooth and huge and round… “Wait!” I thought “My arse!” No, that was deformed, it had a split in it and the liquid would course through the split.

I thought and thought as the womb started bouncing and I heard doors slamming and a wailing sound above all the other noise. Then it hit me! My big, stupid head! Finally I had a use for it. I flipped and stuck my head down into the leak and voila’ – it stopped. However the rest of the womb started to push me deeper into the hole. I tried to say “I’ll pee more – don’t push me in any further!” but that womb wouldn’t listen. It continued to scruntch me deeper and deeper.

Luckily the walls of the Moray’s tunnel were smooth and soft on my face as my head went deeper. I started to panic, thinking what I might find in the eel’s lair and what would happen to me once I arrived. I saw an opening up ahead and thought “this must be the entrance to the lair.” I heard new noises. There was beeping, yelling, and cursing. Someone yelled “push” and then there was so much light I had to shut my eyes tightly. The eel’s lair was bright! Someone stuck something up my nose and sucked all the warm goo out as someone else grabbed my “fun tube” and started cutting it!!! As frightened as I was I resolved to “play possum.” I kept my mouth shut and my eyes closed. Suddenly another hand grabbed me by my ankles and beat hell out of my deformed, split arse. I couldn’t keep quiet anymore I shouted “Stop!” Somehow it sounded a lot like that wailing sound I’d heard earlier. I tried again: “Stop hitting me oh great God of Eels!”

But just more of that stupid sound came out. Somebody started washing me off in nice warm water and then I was dumped onto the belly and breast of some enormous beast. I heard cooing noises and people saying “It’s a boy!” I wondered – “what the heck is a boy?” However I was so relieved to be out of the Moray Eel tunnel that his weird, cooler den seemed not to be so bad after all. I decided not to try and say anything anymore, at least until I could figure out how to work my “sayer.” This is a true story!

 

Ojo Del Lago
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